


The aroma of lasagna, music and feelings

by Yresim



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28670043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yresim/pseuds/Yresim
Summary: Paul liked too mich the way this handsome guy sang, and his window always smelled like really good food.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Amazing voice from the window

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with my friend, however, she is not registered on Ao3, so I can not specify she in the co-creators. Sorry for my English, I hope you enjoy it :^)

A pleasant, slightly burning skin coolness of the most ordinary September evening is in the air.  
Paul is walking slowly down the tidy street, thinking about the routine of life, when suddenly his mind is filled with awkward memories of the person whose singing he is ready to listen to all the same cool evenings, sitting under his window.

The brunette had been there more than once, he knew the approximate time when this very handsome guy starts cooking, and at the same time loudly humming for himself tender love songs. His window was always ajar and always smelled of the most delicious and fresh food. Apparently he cooks as well as sings.

Along with obsessive thoughts about what it's starting to look like he's watching an innocent man, which even McCartney really knows nothing, his head floated a thought:  
"Why don't I go back there?"  
Someday the owner would notice him and decide that he was some junkie that departs from the dose of drugs. But so far everything is in order, so Pavel decided to try his luck and go to that house, especially since it was not so far away.

* * *

At this time, none other than John Winston Lennon was sitting in a comfortable armchair at home. Wrapped in a blanket, he sniffed innocently as the light breeze that filtered through the open window of the window pane gently ruffled the curls of his hair. This evening, he had no plans and was going to spend it alone with his thoughts.

After a while, John finally woke up and decided that something should be done about the fact that he sleeps during the day or at any other time of the day besides night. He hardly ever slept at night, as he was never allowed to do so by the thoughts that disturbed his mind. Therefore, he often got up and tried to occupy himself with something, such as writing songs. Yes, Lennon sometimes wrote something, but he never showed it to anyone, because he had no one to show it to. But he loves to sing. No matter what, he adored almost all styles of music and sometimes even sang his own songs. He especially enjoyed singing for his second favorite hobby — cooking. He could stand at the stove for hours on end and hum whatever tunes came to mind. This was how he usually spent his free time. 

* * *

McCartney is back in this charming neighborhood, where in the evening bright lights burn in every yard, leaving a light light behind the fences and absolutely all the houses look incredibly cozy and cute. But this particular small house with an interesting layout that allows you to see everything that happens in the window of the guy, without penetrating to the fence interested Paul most of all.

At that time, after lying down and stretching for a while, Winston got up and went to the kitchen, as he was quite hungry during his sleep and decided to cook something quickly. Of course, he could forget about everything and just order a pizza or something else, but he loves the cooking process, and he loves to sing at this time.

Going into a small room, the window of which looked out on the road, for which Lennon actually cursed this house, he turned on the light, went to the workplace and began to rummage through the cabinets, taking out various ingredients.

John took out everything he needed for what he was going to cook, laid it out on the table, and picked up the frying pan. This time, he did not decide to bother too much and decided on the usual lasagna with bacon.

The brunette glanced through the window, and finding the figure of a beautiful guy standing in the kitchen, quickly landed on the tough grass growing next to the wall, which the floor rested against with his back for greater convenience, afraid to scare this person. Yes, he would definitely start singing now.

After a while, the brown-eyed guy put the pan on the stove and poured oil on it. Holding a burning match to the burner, he lit it, after which it lit up with a blue flame.Taking a broom in one hand and a bowl in the other, he began to beat the eggs, first humming very softly to himself, and then became louder, changing the song to a more cheerful.

Paul's heart began to beat faster, jumping out of his chest and matching the rhythm of the song, when he heard a familiar, slightly hoarse voice. He loved the way this mysterious guy sang, about whom he could not know anything, but could only sit here and hear these lovely, full of energy and pleasure notes.

The lone streetlights began to light up, slightly illuminating the road with their dim light. Sometimes it was very long and boring to be in the shade, somewhere outside the window, outside the cozy world of this guy and looked like some kind of maniac, but at the same time to be here and understand what was happening behind his back, the only thing that came to the fore from his thoughts was to knock on this window. But with this, it would be incredibly easy to scare anyone in their right mind.

However, the interest was greater than the consequences, and Paul rose slightly, lightly tapped his fist on the glass, and then closed his eyes, waiting for a negative reaction from the red-haired guy.

Immediately, startled, the owner of the house jumped away from the stove, dropping the bowl from his hands, and in due time it flew straight to the floor. John turned abruptly to the source of the sound and froze when he saw a young, dark-haired man standing outside his window, neither tall nor short. Apparently this guy was the one who decided to disturb Lennon on such a wonderful evening.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" with a slight tremor in his voice, John began to question the intruder. He was really surprised and scared at the same time, as no one had ever knocked on his window before. It was on this day that Winston finally cursed the house and promised himself that one day he would move, even if only to an apartment, but not on the first and second floors.

Paul pouted his already plump lips a little, then looked nervously straight into host's face.  
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to scare you..." he managed, though he should have explained why he did it.

"Ahem, so what did you want from me then?" He said more confidently. "Do you know that violation of personal space and trespassing on private property is an article? If you don't tell me what's going on, I'll call the police," John continued. He'd hoped it wouldn't involve the police, but if it did, he'd actually call them.

McCartney was already hopeless, because the reason he was sitting here on such cool evenings was simply ridiculous, and any other normal person would have already given up this idea and gone about their cases.

It was necessary to answer honestly, otherwise it was possible to get into something else.  
"I'm sorry again for scaring you," Paul said, trying to think of the words to make his excuse sound more or less normal, but he wasn't really good at it. "You see, I was passing by and I heard your lovely singing, and I really liked it, and then I wanted to meet you."  
After these words, his cheeks an incredibly noticeable blush.

Lennon just didn't know how to react. Perhaps all the time he was cooking now, he was being watched by some third-party guy from the street. John's mind raced with the thought that this man might be some kind of maniac or murderer. Finally, he gathered his strength and spoke again.  
"Have you been following me?" He asked in a puzzled voice. "And even so, I don't meet people I see for the first time on the street."

The dark-haired man looked shamefacedly at the ground, about to confess his actions.  
"I just sat under your window and enjoyed your voice, I had no purpose to follow you," Paul thought for a moment, then added. "Again, sorry for the inconvenience, you can turn me in to the police if you want."

"Oh, believe me, I would, but I don't think the police will come here because of some fool hanging around outside strangers' windows, eavesdropping on their conversations!" John was very much outraged and intrigued at the same time, as no one had ever said such pleasant things to him before. But of course, he didn't mention it, so as not to seem like a completely stupid person talking to a stranger.

McCartney was disappointed in himself and what a stupid thing he had just done. Now there will not be these pleasant evenings, with bad, but heart-warming lighting coming from light bulbs and no less pleasant and already native singing of this person.  
"Then I'll go if you don't intend to continue the dialogue?" I'm sorry again, I didn't mean for this to happen..." Paul moved away from the house, leaving an unpleasant residue somewhere in the center of his chest.

Suddenly, Winston came to his senses and decided that he still wanted to check something with this guy. He quickly and abruptly moved towards the window, leaning on the sill, looking after the departing stranger shouted: "Do you really think I sing so well?" 

McCartney quickly changed his face to a more usual one, so as not to feel as if he had just wanted to cry because of such nonsense, and turned his head towards the window, shouting: "Yes, really amazing!"

"No one's ever said that to me before, thank you," John ventured, no matter how stupid it looked. After all, a couple of minutes ago, he had no such thoughts, he just wanted to get rid of this tramp as soon as possible, forget about this incident and better never remember.

The green-eyed man decided that it couldn't get any worse, which meant he could ask anything, because he probably wouldn't see this guy again."Please tell me your name at least!" After a while, he shouted.

"John," he said quickly. "John Winston Lennon," he added after a moment's thought.

The dark-haired man decided that it would be fair to say his own name, too.  
"James Paul McCartney," he shouted back, then hurried away.


	2. Rain

It had been about a week since Paul had decided to meet the man who had been so enticing to green-eyes for so long.

By the way, he did not keep his promise not to appear near this house again and came there every evening. But the guy named John Lennon was not even against it, because the two of them often had a conversation about a variety of art, feelings and other less important and simple things.

This area has already become so familiar for all the time that McCartney came here. The red-haired guy didn't even consider him a friend, but during the fascinating dialogues, it didn't bother either of them.

All the while they sat and chatted through John's open window. They never ran out of topics to talk about, they could start a dialogue about anything or anyone, finding more and more in common. For example, Paul was also very fond of music and sang as well as Lennon. And John himself wondered how this guy could like his terrible voice, when the brunette had just an angelic voice, comparable to the singing of a bird.

It was all incredibly great, even though this whole day was not much different from the previous ones. But specifically today, in conversations between them began to slip any personal topics, which gradually gave the opportunity to become more and more open.

It was a pleasant evening that could only be spoiled by the weather, because judging by the sky covered with thick gray clouds and Paul's not-so-good premonitions, the rain was going to catch him off guard very soon.

"Look, John, the weather is bad. It's possible that it's going to rain soon, so I think I'd better go home before it's too late," James decided to say, since he thought it was the right thing to do.

"Yeah, the weather really didn't work out today," he said, looking at the big gray clouds. "Hmm, maybe you can come over to my house and I'll buy you a cup of tea?" Winston asked after a moment's thought, a hint of hope in his voice.

Such a sharp suggestion from Lennon's mouth surprised Paul greatly, because it was out of the question to go and look at the John's house from the inside before. However, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to discuss more things and talk more, and there wasn't much to do.  
"Oh, thank you so much, I could use a cup of tea," McCartney managed to say.

John had never imagined that he would ever invite an almost unknown guy from the street to his house and continue to talk to him as if he were an old friend. But Lennon felt that he could be trusted, so he was in no hurry to cut ties with this attractive brunette so quickly.

Paul had absolutely no idea what it would lead to, but somehow he was sure that John couldn't hurt him. It seemed that they had known each other for many years and could trust each other, be something like siblings to each other. All those words spoken earlier so united them. Among other things, all these feelings were reinforced by McCartney's incredible sympathy for his new acquaintance.

"Then what are you worth? Come to the gate on the other side, I'll open it for you," Lennon said happily, already turning to leave. He shivered slightly at the realization that he would soon see the face of this guy without the barrier of windows. 

"That's very kind of you," Paul said, and forced an innocent smile on his face. The unknown beckoned McCartney, so he was filled with determination to go. 

With a quick and confident step, the brunette headed towards the very conscientiously made gate, skirting all the puddles that appeared on the road from the beginning of the rain.  
It was kind of nice that they were going to be sitting in John's house now. It was as if they had moved to a new, higher level of relationship, because to invite a person to visit you, you need to have at least some trust in him.

Winston smiled to himself, not even noticing it, and headed for the front door. A light drizzle was already falling outside, but large, black clouds indicated that a real downpour was coming soon. 

John quickened his pace to finally let poor Paul in, who had been freezing in the cold all this time. John didn't know why he had just thought of inviting his companion to his house. But in any case, it was no longer important, since he was already approaching the gate, behind which the guest was apparently standing.

McCartney stared up at the sky, wondering how the rain clouds could have gathered so quickly. He only wanted to get out of the rain as soon as possible and see the place of residence of such a beautiful person, from the window of whose dwelling there was always a beautiful smell of food and the same beautiful singing. Curiosity mixed with a strange feeling that was more like excitement, along with anxiety, was once again taking hold of green-eye.

Lennon was a little worried, he didn't know why. It was something new for him, because he and Paul were just talking through the window, and now John just invites the brunette to his house. Nevertheless, the red-haired man throws all bad thoughts out of his head and already stands and opens the gate to his new acquaintance, fumbling with the key in the lock.

The first thing McCartney saw when the gate door opened was the slightly thoughtful face of his companion, whom he could only see through the window before. James was overwhelmed with emotion, which was perfectly reflected in his expression in the form of a wide welcoming smile and a slight blush on his cheeks.

"Well, now that we're standing here facing each other," the dark—haired man held out his hand for a handshake.

Winston didn't know what was happening to him. He felt joy, fear, and bewilderment at the same time, unaware of anything that was happening around him. He just stood there, smiling stupidly and looking at the guy in front of him.

After a few seconds, John woke up and held out his hand to meet the familiar, squeezing it in a firm handshake. Lennon should have said something, but he only blushed slightly as he looked into the Paul's eyes and shook his hand.

McCartney didn't want to admit it to himself, but during those many entertaining conversations through the window, when he looked at John's face, his only desire was to lightly touch the red-haired guy's cheek or maybe his beautiful hand, stroking the thin wrist. After these thoughts, he would imperceptibly shake his head, putting them away, but they would still come back. For example, now, James thought that he was already makes the handshake too long, but he did not want to let go of his friend's warm and so pleasant to the touch hand.

Finally, realizing that they had been standing outside in the beginning rain for quite some time, squeezing each other's hands, John finally let go of his friend's hand and managed to say: "Can we go inside? Otherwise, we'll both catch a cold, and I didn't plan on getting sick."  
Lennon didn't really care about himself, but he did care about Paul's condition.

"Of course," dark-haired man said quickly, reluctantly letting go of Winston's hand. "Thank you again for inviting me to your place," he added.

Right now, he felt absolutely everything that a person can feel: joy, embarrassment, depression, and even a small amount of love. And all this in relation to one person and one situation related to this very person. Paul didn't want to continue to deceive myself, but more and more he thought that Lennon was really beautiful in everything.

The owner of the house did not respond to this, but only closed the gate again and turned in the direction of a small but cozy house.  
"Let's go," he decided, turning slightly to his friend and looking into his sweet, slightly embarrassed face.

The weather today was not the best. The wind was blowing wildly, tearing the leaves from the trees, and all this was supported by driving clouds and increasing rain.  
Now John was thinking not only about his friend, but also about his own health, as the gusts of wind hit him hard in the face and blew through his clothes, which were already wet.

The dark-haired man glanced at the red-haired man from time to time, constantly noticing how cold and unpleasant his companion was in his wet clothes. He wanted to get home as soon as possible and help the redhead warm up, but all he could do was silently curse himself for being so shy and not offering to go inside sooner. 

At least somehow McCartney was trying to distract himself from the disturbing thoughts in his mind by looking at a small area. Inside the fence, it looked even nicer and more comfortable.

"John?" For some reason, the brunette broke from his lips as he once again looked at his companion. Paul blushed deeply after what he had said, but tried his best to hide his embarrassed face.

The one who had just been hailed was completely lost in his own thoughts and was going to go inside as quickly as possible so as not to get even more wet. But, apparently, today was definitely not his day and the guys were just destined to catch a cold. Pulling himself out of his reverie, Lennon replied sharply and a little irritably: "Yes?"

As a matter of fact, what did Paul want from Winston? James couldn't explain it even to himself, he was ready to sink through the ground from the awkwardness of the situation, because all the answers to John's question that he was going through in his head sounded as terrible as possible. And besides, they are frozen to the point of impossibility, and he is incomprehensibly distracting them from the road. There was silence. The most unpleasant thing that can happen during the dialogue.

"I don't think it's a good idea to stand there in the cold," John began, realizing that McCartney wasn't going to answer the question. "Can we finally go inside and talk?"

Paul only nodded silently, letting Lennon know that he agreed with him, then turned away and whispered under his breath: "Of course, it's high time."

Naturally, hearing nothing and not suspecting anything, Winston moved quickly towards the door, this time hoping that the dark-haired guy would follow him, and they would finally be in the warmth. When he reached the entrance, he opened the door and turned back, inviting the guest to enter.

McCartney hesitated again, hesitating to enter the house even when he had already been invited. But still, after that, making an innocent face, he walked towards a door as beautiful as the whole house. Standing in the aisle, he turned his head back and directed his gaze at John, waiting for him to do something.

The brown-eyed man, meanwhile, was standing near the porch, waiting for his friend to come into the house.  
"Come on in, don't be shy," John said softly, calming down. He was a little nervous about the awkwardness that hung between them and Paul, so he tried to smooth over the tension.

The green-eyed man continued to be embarrassed each of his actions on the territory belonging to his friend, but to go into the house, though slightly clumsy, he still dared. 

There was definitely nothing to lose now. And why, the brunette took so long to gather his thoughts to do it? How long had he dreamed of being here? And now, Paul stands in this house, and thinks now that he will spend the near future with a beautiful person.

The owner of the house followed him in and closed the door behind him. John was incredibly glad that they were finally in a warm place and now they wouldn't be standing in the rain. 

Outside, it was gradually getting dark, not only from the overcast sky, but also from the time of day that was now. Lennon was already tired and would have liked to just fall on the bed and cover himself with a blanket, but now he was not alone in the house. So, without saying anything, he walked straight down the hall and turned into the kitchen, thinking that Paul would follow him. The brunette didn't even care about the fact that it was a long walk to his own house and not particularly cool in such darkness, even though the brunette had already walked at night more than once. 

He hurried to follow John, still afraid to do anything wrong, because he was madly attracted to this red-haired guy with cute features and an even more cute personality.

Yes, Paul continued to fool himself naively, trying to get away from these feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this!   
> The third chapter should be the last, if nothing changes.


	3. Warm

Lennon went into the kitchen and put on the kettle to make tea later for a more cute heart-to-heart conversation.   
"You're not cold?" For some reason, John decided to ask McCartney abruptly, who had just entered the room.

The dark-haired man stared at John like a moth at a light. His gaze lingered on the hands with the beautiful long fingers.  
"I thought you were cold," Paul decided to answer honestly. "Is there anything I can do to help?" He added, after a short interval of time.

Winston decided to ignore the first sentence, mistaking it for casual words. And after a little thought about the question of a friend and after a while replied: "Can you get the cups from the cabinet above the stove?"

The green-eyed man made a small nod in the direction of the red-haired man, James was counting on the fact that he would help him, so he prepared mentally in advance. He carefully opened the cabinet doors, making very smooth movements as he took out the cups themselves. They were painted with delicate, elegant patterns. It had all started out so well, but the thought of failure was enough to bring Paul to a standstill in front of a couple of shards. How much do you need to be lost in your thoughts and not attentive to drop the dishes in the house in which you are visiting for the first time!

John's thoughts were interrupted by a very loud and sharp sound. Startled, he turned to the source of the sound and saw McCartney standing over the broken china, frozen. 

"It's okay, you're not hurt?" With alarm in his voice said Winston.   
In fact, the first thought in his mind was bewilderment at how Paul could be so clumsy. But when he saw his friend's eyes, which were filled with fear and regret, the brown-eyed man simply could not be angry with him.

"No," Paul replied in a voice filled with fear and a little bit of shame. "I didn't hurt myself..." He added, when he had recovered a little from his stupor. 

The dark-haired man didn't dare even look in John's direction, let alone apologize. He wanted to sink into the ground with a rush of shame. McCartney didn't think that red would do anything to him because of this cup, but in any case, there would be an unpleasant aftertaste after this event.

"I apologize," McCartney finally said. "If you want, I can buy a new one, even a few of them," he wanted to apologize endlessly, but he didn't want Winston to think that Paul attached too much importance to such things.

"No, it's okay, no need to apologize," after Paul's sincere apology and his puppy – dog look, the red-haired man completely forgot about all the negativity directed towards the guy. "The main thing is that you're safe, and a piece of china is not important at all," John decided to add after a short time to calm his friend.

"Thank you for yours..." Paul hesitated, searching for the right word. "Your concern. It's really very nice," he said, thanking Lennon sincerely, and then his face was once again drawn into a pretty smile. And the situation with the cup no longer seemed so shameful.

John only smiled sweetly in response and turned off the already boiling kettle.   
"Have a seat," he gestured to a chair near a small round table. "I'll pick up the pieces for now," the brown – eyed man decided to add, walking over and bending over the fragments of the former cup.

"Don't worry, I could do it myself," Paul said. He still blamed himself for what had happened, so he thought it was only fair that he should be the one to remove the pieces.

Winston did not want to give in to McCartney, because such a clumsy person as he can also get hurt by them. But in order not to hurt his friend's fragile feelings, John only insisted on his own out of politeness, after all, he is the owner of the house: "Paul, really, I'll clean it myself." He looked into the other man's eyes, and then began to pick up the large pieces in his hand and putting them in the trash can.

James still couldn't quite believe that Lennon had been so kind to him. He wanted to do something to please John, but he couldn't think of any good ideas.  
"Can I make you some tea then?" Paul asked John, who was busy picking up the pieces. "Don't worry, I won't break anything this time," he muttered with a suppressed chuckle.

At this point, Lennon had finished with the shards and raised his gaze to the green-eyed man.   
"Well, only if you really don't drop anything," he said with a small smile and a chuckle.

"I won't drop it," the dark — haired man said, smiling back.   
He tried to stay focused on what he was doing, so that it wouldn't turn out like last time. He didn't want to break the second cup from the tea set! McCartney took the teapot firmly by the handle, holding it lightly on the other side, deftly pouring some water into a cup that already contained a brew of sweet-smelling green tea.

John had been standing there, watching the smooth but slightly nervous movements of Paul's hands. He liked the odd - looking kid with the good looks, no matter how much he denied it to himself. Winston walked slowly to the table and picked up the tea that McCartney had carefully prepared for him.  
"Thank you, but why didn't you make the tea for yourself?"

James continued to smile stupidly. It was so nice to please the brown-eyed man at least a little.   
"Well, you only have one cup like this now, so I decided to do something good for you," the dark-haired man replied, looking away, in which all emotions were usually read. He liked the red-haired guy too much, he can't even look at him without embarrassment.

John was pleased that someone was taking care of him. In fact, Winston had never been as attached to anyone as he was to Paul.   
Recently, it has become almost the meaning of life for him. Lennon thought about telling his friend about it, but he was afraid that he would scare him off, so he preferred to keep quiet.   
"Really, thank you. I am very pleased," he decided to thank my friend a second time.

"John, you don't have to thank me so many times," the green — eyed man said with some embarrassment and a little forced modesty, trying to hide his smile. "You know, let's just sit down and keep talking about music," he continued, surreptitiously admiring the beautiful reddish locks of his friend's hair.

Oh, if only Lennon knew what was going on in that cute guy's mind! And who knows if he would have been happy, surprised, or perhaps disbelieved, considering it a joke. Paul no longer even tried to hide from himself that he had fallen in love with a man he had met so casually, and now they were sitting here, each of them thinking about their own things.

"Yes, I think I should have done it right away. After all, that's why I invited you to my place, " John said soberly, smiling at Paul and showing that he agreed with him completely. Looking down a little, the brown-eyed man pulled out a chair and sat down on it, facing his friend.

After carefully studying Winston's face, especially his knowing eyes, Paul took a deep breath to begin the dialogue.   
"Speaking of music," he said, continuing to study the red-haired man's features, which he had seen so many times before. "I've been meaning to ask you for a long time: did you learn to sing somewhere or did you learn it yourself?" Then he pulled his gaze away from the other man, afraid of eye contact, as if Lennon would judge him for asking the question.

John hesitated a little before answering, as he did not like to talk about his voice, because he did not like it at all, but soon he answered: "Yes, I can say I didn't even study, I just sing as I like." Winston thought for a moment, then added: "I know I don't sing well, I have a terrible voice, and no one will ever listen to me, but you were the first to tell me otherwise."

"That's not true!" Paul exclaimed sharply, probably startling Lennon very much, whereupon he looked down and blushed a little at his lack of tact. "I mean, the way you think of yourself. I won't be able to change your mind, but I'll listen to you for the rest of my life as we get to know each other. And I'm sure I'm not the only one who admires your vocals, because it's really amazing!" the brunette hastened to explain, so as not to look so stupid.

"No one's ever told me that before..." John thought for a moment, looking down at his hands, which were folded on the table. "But I really don't think I sing that well, no matter what you tell me, although I am very pleased."

Paul just couldn't hear it coming from such a lovely person. He shouldn't talk about himself like that, he definitely deserves all the compliments in this world!  
"John..." the dark-haired man began, looking directly at the brown-eyed man, making sure that he was listening. "If you only knew how perfectly perfect you are..." He finished the thought more quietly, holding his breath.

The red-haired man's heart seemed to stop. His pupils narrowed, and he began to stare at the table. He couldn't explain the rush of emotion, he wanted too much to pull Paul to him right now and touch his lips with his own.

Barely able to stop his body from shaking, John gets up and goes to the window, which is only pitch-black. How he wants to pull the brunette to him and hug him until he loses consciousness.

James looks at the mysterious but so beautiful John Winston Lennon standing by the window. His heart is pounding fast, and the blood is rushing to my temples. With no control over what he's doing, McCartney gets up from his chair and walks towards the red-haired guy. He doesn't know what the brown-eyed man is thinking, but he feels that he needs Paul's touch.  
The brunette carefully approaches from behind and gently puts his arm around Lennon's waist.

He only flinches slightly at the warm touch, but doesn't pull away. He's waited too long for this and he's never going to miss his chance, so he just presses himself more to the Floor.

The green-eyed man responds by giving Lennon a few perfunctory, but so desirable and pleasant, kisses on the neck, and then finishes it all by touching his soft, plump lips to Lennon's tender cheek.

John sighs languidly, enjoying every second of being so close to Paul. He can't believe that they have finally crossed this line between friends and lovers and now they don't need to hide something from each other and hide their real feelings. Now they fully understand each other.

***  
It's been dark outside for a long time. However, there is still a dim light in this cute little house on the corner of the street, as well as in the souls of these two guys, awakening hope for a better future for this world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is short compared to the last one. Sorry it took me so long to post the sequel.   
> This is the end of this story, thank you for reading :^)


End file.
